


Vampire Kisses

by Osidiano



Series: Get Your Meme On [4]
Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! GX
Genre: Blood and Violence, F/M, Hypnotism, Necrophilia, Pre-Series, Rape, Snake Imagery, Vampire Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-09-21
Updated: 2009-09-21
Packaged: 2018-03-07 20:56:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3182876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Osidiano/pseuds/Osidiano
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the gxkinkmeme; "Same request I made in the last one, since it was never filled: Carmulla (or Camulla, however you prefer) x Fubuki. Do not care if it's Darkness!Fubuki or not. I want me some goddamn necro. Yes, I am mucking up your meme with het."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Vampire Kisses

**Vampire Kisses**  

Fubuki was tired, his body heavy with exhaustion and sore from hours of brutality. An edged whip had been taken to his back. A hot knife had carved mystic symbols up and down his arms. He was weak at the knees—too much blood lost to sacrifice and repentance, of course; he told himself that it had nothing to do with the stairs—and leaned heavily on the wall for support as he stumbled down the dimly lit hallway. Truthfully, Tanya had been right: while his enthusiasm was greatly appreciated, he was overdoing it. She had frowned and shook her head at his antics, and told him that he needed to rest.

They had no use for dead priests, after all.

Thankfully, one of the other members of the Seven Stars had been kind enough to invite him to relax inside, away from the fire and blood of the ancient rituals. Fubuki paused, his bloody back against a thick wooden door, and reached up to touch his face, to wipe the sweat from his brow. His fingers met with only the cool metal of the mask.

He found that he often forgot that he was wearing it now.

"There you are," came the breathy whisper from nearby, cutting across his thoughts and idle musings. He inhaled deeply, a scent of dried roses and musky snake skin enveloping his senses as he brought his head up to stare forward into the darkness. At first, he saw nothing.

And then she was there.

It was mesmerizing, the way that she walked towards him, shoulders back and head tilted down slightly. Each movement was calculated, the shift of weight from one foot to another, side to side and back again with each step, was like a hunter stalking its prey. It made him shiver. It forced him to stare at her hips, caused his mind to go numb except for the brain stem. She smiled, the action only just slightly too wide for her face; it turned the expression hungry and inhuman with her painted mouth taking up more space than it should have.

She stood in front of him, their eyes locked as she reached around to open the door behind him. He had no choice but to step back when she stepped forward into the room, the door slowly falling shut as if of its own accord. That would not have been strange, he thought, not here in her castle, where it seemed that the world bent in on itself to play fancy to her whims. She whispered his title with reverence, her thin, delicate hands sliding up along his chest to his shoulders. His jacket fell to the tiled floor with a muted ruffle. He stepped on it as he continued moving back.

Fubuki's breath was shaky and uneven as the woman slowly undid his belt, pulling it off and letting it fall from her fingers to land beside the jacket. Her nails scratched lightly at his stomach beneath his shirt, and he lifted his arms when prompted to so that she could remove that as well. Something hit the back of his thighs, and only then was he able to look away at what was behind him.

A large white tub—porcelain and antique, with brass claw feet—had been filled with warm water and red rose petals. The rim was what he had walked back into. She undid his pants, and pushed them down off his bony hips.

"Get in." She commanded, and her eyes did not need to glow for him to know that he did not have a choice. It did not matter. He would not have argued with her, anyway. Fubuki finished undressing, and brought his hands to his face to remove the mask, but she caught them just in time. "No."

"Carmulla?"

" _Leave it on_ ," she murmured, leaning in to brush her lips across his for the briefest of moments. Fubuki shivered, but did as he was told. The vampire watched him get into the bath with a satisfied smile before sliding out of her dress and joining him.

It was always a sliding or a slipping motion that he paired with her. It was always fluid, as if there was a viscosity to the air that surrounded her, that weighted her movements and caused her muscles to contract like that. She had entered the tub from the opposite end, and now crawled the short distance to him. Fubuki leaned back, and let his neck rest on the rim.

She straddled his waist, one knee on either side of his hips, her body cold where it touched his own. It did not matter how warm the water was; she would always be cold, as if the chill was created within and permeated out through her skin. Her long hair had fallen over one shoulder, the strands fanning out over his chest before dipping down into the water and floating on top of it. He stared up into her eyes, and wondered what it was about vampires and death that dulled his senses and left him wanting so much more.

Carmulla lowered herself to a seated position on top of him, and he inhaled sharply at the contact. He could feel her, wet only from the bath, rubbing against him, teasing. Fubuki brought his hands up out of the water, one settling on the small curve of her back, and the other running up over her taunt stomach to rest between her breasts. She rocked her hips, back and forth at first, and then in a small, controlled circle. He moaned, gazing up at her as he felt himself enter her. She bent down closer to him.

And her lower jaw unhinged, exposing a mouth full of long, needle-like fangs. The skin around her lips was stretched and pulled to accommodate the unnatural change. Her tongue rolled out, thin and serpentine, extending down past her chin. She hissed, the sound a terrible rattle in her throat as it escaped. Fubuki's eyes went wide behind the mask in awe, his own mouth still open from the moan and his heavy breathing, his mind hazy with sex and hypnosis.

Then she kissed him, and it was all that he could do not to gag. Her teeth tore into his mouth, and blood dripped down his chin to taint the water. Her inhuman tongue explored him, wet and hungry and tickling the back of his throat. She pushed herself down further, forcing him in deeper. His shoulders shook, body thrashing underneath her. Fubuki's hands moved to her hips, gripping tightly, but he did not push her away. He _could not_ push her away. His eyes were still wide, staring forward unseeing as she rocked in tandem with his resistance.

Carmulla wrapped her arms around him, digging her nails deep into his wounded back. He tried to cry out, but found that there was no room for his voice with her there inside of his mouth, down his throat and hissing into his lungs. There was no room for breath, or thought, or pleasure. His vision began to blacken along the edges, his eyes rolling up and back into his skull behind the mask.

And then, there was nothing.

* * *

Fubuki awoke in bed with a start, jerking upright as his hand flew to his mouth to stifle a scream. He was panting, breathing too hard and too fast for any air to actually make it past the hand that blocked it. His eyes darted around the room, seeking. . .something. _Anything_. Perhaps a sign that he had made it out of the castle, or some clue as to how he had escaped that nightmare. But he was alone in the dark.

His hand slipped away from his mouth then, and he winced as the mangled skin clung to his fingers. He saw only red when he glanced down at them, felt only that familiar warm slickness when he rubbed his fingertips together. Fubuki turned his head to glance at the sheets behind him, and saw that they, too, were wet with his blood.

He put his hands over his eyes to try to rub away the sight, but he could not reach them. His fingers slid over the cool metal of his mask, streaking his vision and tainting the world with his— _sacrifice_. Fubuki trembled, his mind working quickly. He had brutalized his body time and time again in the name of his gods; why should this pain somehow be any different? Why should it be wasted?

The trembling shook him harder, and his mouth ached. It was not until he heard himself begin to laugh that Fubuki realized he was smiling.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted [here](http://ygo-gx-kinkmeme.livejournal.com/627.html?thread=3443#t3443).


End file.
